


go with the season

by ohtempora



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: Nick says, “Maybe you and I should go fishing.”





	go with the season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehandsoftime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehandsoftime/gifts).



> happy 4th of july!
> 
> i have only gone fishing in the northeastern united states, so my apologies for any fish-related inaccuracies.

Kyle says, “We keep going to Target.”

Nick laughs, like this is a funny joke. Like Kyle hasn’t spent too much time, the past few weeks of summer, staring at duvet sets wrapped in plastic, trying to pick between a navy sheet set and a dark grey sheet set and a light grey sheet set. Like this is what matters, more than the upcoming NHL draft, or the actual classes he’ll be enrolling in at college. And he’s not the first kid-- his parents have done this twice before. Chad shipped himself off to Colorado. Kyle, on the other hand, is staying much closer to home.

“Oh,” Nick says. “You’re serious.”

“Yep,” Kyle says.

Nick says, “Maybe you and I should go fishing.”

-

They go fishing. After some negotiation , Kyle is allowed to escape the loving embrace of his family. They pick a Saturday, a hot weekend with the weather sticker than normal, enough that Kyle knows being at the lake will feel like a relief. Someone in Nick’s family has a cabin that’s open for relatives, and Nick manages to secure it for a night. Possibly he calls in bribes. Kyle isn’t sure.

Honestly, he and Nick haven’t been friends like this for all that long. They knew of each other like everyone at a certain level of Minnesota hockey knows of each other, and they played each other, and they circled each other warily, as people from opposing high schools do. Nick didn’t go to the US National Development Team-- Kyle for sure heard about that. But then they both went to the Hlinka a couple years back, and from there his memories of Nick solidify a little: fond exasperation, Nick lying in his bed getting crumbs all over the place, his knees poking up like tent poles in front of him. Nick talking about fishing, about hockey, the Vikings, talking about why Kyle absolutely should not go to college in Colorado like his brother, and then fishing again. After that they made an effort to keep in touch. Kyle saw him at the U last year too, on his official visit, Nick beaming at him from a foot up.

Now it’s 2011, and they’re going to be teammates, so. Fishing.

Fish bite best early in the morning, Nick tells him on the phone. He calls in the early evening, right while they’re all having dinner, but Kyle picks up.

“Nick says fish bite better in the morning,” he tells everyone at the dinner table.

“You heading to bed early?” his mom asks.

Kyle shrugs. “Pretty sure I don’t have a choice now, or he’ll be waking me up before dawn.”

It doesn’t come to that, but Nick pulls into the driveway right when Kyle is waking up. It’s still dark out, and he’s stumbling around his bedroom looking for the overnight bag he packed. Kyle pulls on an Aeros shirt that Chad left at the house last Christmas, finds shorts that definitely belong to his twin, and makes it down the stairs without hurting himself.

Outside, Nick is waiting in his truck. There are two thermoses of coffee in the cupholders. Kyle yawns, rubs his eyes, and climbs in.

-

When Kyle was younger-- his older brothers were barely, he remembers-- all six of them would go on weekend trips like this, the six of them piling into the minivan and heading out to the lake. There’s still a framed photo in the living room of Kyle holding up a fish almost as big as he is, gap-toothed and grinning wide.

Turns out Nick isn’t much of a talker. He’s a good driver, certainly more careful than Kyle, or Nick Leddy, who is absolutely terrifying to get in a car with. They listen to Minnesota public radio until the signal gets fuzzy and grey light is filtering through the trees.

“Thought we’d take the boat out,” Nick says. “It’s my uncle’s, but he’s fine with me using it.”

“Sure,” Kyle says.

They keep driving.

-

Nick’s family cabin is on the small side and very piney. There are a few photos hanging on the walls of a lot of terrifyingly tall, terrifyingly blond people, and Nick just smiles sheepishly when he sees Kyle squinting at them. They drop their bags in the living room, grab the cooler of snacks, and head out.

Ever since school ended Kyle’s been feeling restless. He went to Sioux Falls for the playoffs, scored goals like he was supposed to, and then came on home. He’s still got a couple weeks until the draft, but not enough space to really ignore it.

Thankfully, early and out on the water, the humidity hasn’t really sunk in yet. Nick knows what he’s doing and Kyle follows him, casting his line out into the shimmering water. He doesn’t expect much to come of this-- he knows Nick's mom made them pasta salad last night to bring in case they didn’t catch anything-- but he likes sitting out on the lake. Nick is a good person to sit with.

In the fall maybe they can sit with each other on the bus to and from games. Part of Kyle wants to say that out loud, but the rest of him doesn’t want to interrupt the stillness. He watches the sun creep up the horizon, instead, looking at Nick out of the corner of his eye and ducking his head.

An hour passes like that, maybe more. Kyle finishes his coffee and Nick does too.

They catch some fish. They don't really talk much. They throw some fish back. Kyle looks over the water and doesn't think about the draft, the fall, his college dorm, or anything else.

-

“Well,” Nick says, looking down at the cleaned fish. “We can totally eat this?”

“You don’t sound super confident about that,” Kyle says.

Nick grins. “I mean, I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“My mom gave me pasta salad and chicken to grill in case we didn’t get enough fish.”

“You know how to grill?” Kyle asks.

“I’ll definitely try.”

Nick has a six-pack of beer, too. It feels illicit, like the parties that Kyle’s been to, where people sneak beer in that older siblings and older teammates buy them. Except Nick’s mom bought it for them, Kyle’s pretty sure. They fire up the grill in the back and each drink a beer, staring at the meat spread over it.

“I’m not really sure what this is supposed to look like,” Nick says eventually. “We, uh. Every time we grilled at school one of the older guys on the team did it.”

“Oh.”

“We have, like, parties-- it’s fun. You’ll see.” Nick sounds a lot more confident about that then he does their supposed dinner. “Well.”

“The chicken your mom gave you is cooked, right?” Kyle takes a long sip of his beer. It’s nice, he guesses.

“Yeah, and pasta salad with pesto.”

“Okay,” Kyle says. “Um. We can come back to this later?”

“But you’re hungry now,” Nick finishes. He doesn’t look disappointed, even.

Kyle smiles at him. “Kinda, yeah.”

“Okay! It's cool. This is why my mom made me bring other food, I bet.” Nick squints at the grill, which he leaves on, and says, “We can still eat out here. Gimme a second.”

He disappears into the house, and when he comes back he's holding two places full of food, silverware balanced precariously on top.

“Dinner!” Nick announces. “Bon appétit.”

Kyle wants to tell him-- something mean and joking, because he feels so much affection for Nick right now that he doesn't know how to deal with. He takes his plate instead.

-

Kyle doesn't know how late it is, except that the sky outside is pitch black, and they're going to be pretty fucked when they wake up to fish in the morning.

Nick is stretched out on the couch beside him, long legs tucked so he doesn't get too much into Kyle's space, though his toes are poking up against Kyle's thigh. His breathing is slow and even but he's still awake. The fire they built is crackling, and Kyle closes his eyes for a moment and listens to it pop.

Next year it'll be the two of them, but not like this. The two of them on the ice, and twenty-odd more people, an entire hockey team.

The draft matters, but the Gophers matter so much, too. Kyle finally isn't too small for them, not good enough. No matter what happens after that, he made it this far.

Nick lifts his head up off the pillow and says, “What're you thinking about?”

“The Gophers,” Kyle says, mostly truthful. He doesn't want to say the other part out loud to Nick, who doesn't have to worry about being too small, too slow, too not-enough.

“Oh yeah,” Nick says. “Dude, you-- it's so great, Rauser. You'll see how great it is when we get there for summer session, but all the guys are so excited, and the hockey is just-- it's another level, man.”

“You've given me this speech before.”

“Well. Yes.” Nick sits up. “But it worked, right?”

“Yeah,” Kyle concedes. It worked.

Nick lies back down, sprawling over more than his half of the couch, this time. His feet are basically in Kyle's lap. “And we'll get to play together.”

“Maybe, yeah,” Kyle says, and then sees Nick's face and amends it. “Hopefully.”

“You fucked me up in enough high school tournaments that it's a good thing,” Nick says. If you're Nick, Kyle has learned, then everyone works out. A lot of it is because Nick believes so hard in everything working out. All that energy feeds back and forth, and then good things happen. Kyle's not Nick.

Nick says, “We should probably hit the sack,” and then makes no move to get up.

“Probably,” Kyle says. “Otherwise you can't complain, you know, about the fish, and when they're not biting early.”

Nick groans at him. “It's a saying,” he says. “One that happens to be true.”

“Okay, Kyle says, and shifts. When he does they're touching more, but Nick doesn't say anything, so he waits, and stays in place.

Kyle is about to say he should head to bed when Nick sits up. He says, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Hit me,” Kyle says.

“If you say no I promise everything will be the same,” Nick says, and even though Kyle doesn't know what Nick is asking for, he believes him. He's long since accepted that's just how Nick is. Nick inhales. He watches Kyle's face carefully. “Can I kiss you? I would like to kiss you.”

“Oh,” Kyle says, and inhales too. He makes a breathy little sound, the kind that he hates to hear escape past his lips.

He looks at Nick a moment longer, cataloging how bright and hopeful his eyes are, and how it feels to have all that aimed at him. He says, “Yeah, let's, um. Try that.”

-

Nick's first kiss is tentative, it turns out, like he's trying to figure out, still, if this is okay. The second kiss is less so. They're overbalanced on the couch, clutching at each other. Nick is a long line of warmth against his front. He tilts his head and parts his lips and Kyle pushes in, pressing forward.

He's kissed other people before, other guys. None of them have sent sparks skittering down his spine.

When they break apart Nick licks his lips and says, “Wow, that really works.”

Kyle laughs. It comes out harsh, surprise making sound catch in his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “Wow.”

They continue kissing on the couch until Nick has to stifle a yawn, and then Kyle is yawning too. After all, they woke up early for the sake of the fish.

Nick checks in the fire, and Kyle goes to change into flannel pajama bottoms. When he comes out of his room to brush his teeth Nick is in the bathroom too, U of M sweatpants slung low on his hips. Nick spits out the toothpaste in his mouth, waits for Kyle to finish, and then kisses him again, grabbing him around the hips.

“Hey,” Kyle says, and finds himself backed up against the bathroom wall.

“Sorry,” Nick says, when they break apart. “Sorry, I just-- needed to do that, you know?”

Kyle guesses he does know. He isn't sure about it being directed at him. But he knows.

-

They don't go further than kissing, because even the kissing is so, so new. But Nick asks if Kyle wants to sleep in his bed.

It wouldn't be the first time they shared a bed. Kyle remembers the Hlinka, everyone hanging out over hotel room beds. Still, it's the first time it's the two of them, like this.

“You don't have to,” Nick says, big hands open at his sides, but Kyle wants to.

Another leap, this year.

They get into the bed together. Nick lies flat on his back, and Kyle tugs the blanket up until it's pooled around his waist. He looks over at Nick, who is barely breathing.

He inches his ankle over, until his foot brushes against Nick's, and watches the nervous tension leave Nick's spine.

They drift closer towards each other, and fall asleep.

-

In the morning, they fish some more, and catch a couple, and throw back a couple more. Driving back to the suburbs, Kyle feels better. He likes it even more when Nick pulls off the road, under some shady trees, so that they can kiss.

“In the fall,” Kyle asks, and licks his lips.

“Yep,” Nick says.

“Are we-- do you--”

“Yes,” Nick says. “If you want to. Um, and when you get drafted, I wanna kiss you then too.”

“If,” Kyle says.

“When,” Nick tells him. “You never know. Maybe we'll end up on the same team.”

“That seems unlikely,” Kyle tells him, but he laughs, and lets Nick kiss him again before they drive back home. 


End file.
